


Hopelessly Devoted

by agentmoppet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: Harry awakens to a noise in the middle of the night, and everything he thought he knew comes crashing down around him. In the best possible way, of course.





	Hopelessly Devoted

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of the HP rare pair requests from tumblr :) I'm coming to the end of these now (not accepting any more, sorry!) and most are little drabbles on tumblr. I'll link them all in a master post at the end and maybe a collection here. 
> 
> There's a teeny smidge of praise kink in here, and the whole dynamic is really quite praise kink-y anyway. Hope you enjoy :)

Harry woke with a start, his eyes snapping open in the darkness as he tried to focus and identify the noise that had disturbed him. 

It came again—a sharp sort of sound, like a gasp—and Harry leapt out of bed, threw on his jeans, and padded silently into the kitchen. Someone was hunched over the bench, and it was only as he was about to draw his wand on the person that he realised this was unusual intruder behaviour. He put two and two together and remembered that he shared the flat with Ron.

He switched on the light, and Ron looked up at him, blinking in the sudden brightness. 

“What are you doing standing in the dark?” Harry asked, but when he caught Ron’s eye the laughter died in his throat. “Shit, what’s happened? Is Hermione all right?”

Ron nodded and made a strange hiccuping sound; Harry realised that was the noise he had heard. His face was paler than Harry had seen it before, and while there was no evidence he’d been crying, his eyes were sunken and red.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine. Just go back to bed.”

Harry pulled up a chair and sat down on the other side of the bench. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think I will. Are you okay?”

The flickering kitchen light cast strange shadows across Ron’s face, and Harry felt suddenly too cold in their drafty kitchen. 

“You remember what Nev and Ginny were talking about today at lunch?” Ron asked, scrubbing his hands through his hair and looking down, away from Harry.

Harry fought to remember. “Not really… something about the war?” 

“Yeah, they were talking about when I ran off on you in the forest. They were taking the piss about how Bill told them I wouldn’t stop talking about the two of you, wondering what you were up to.” 

He remembered now—they had been laughing that Ron’s pining after Hermione had outweighed his terror over the war. Harry had stopped listening then because something deep inside his chest ached whenever he thought about the two of them and how perfect they were together.

“Yeah?” He wasn’t entirely sure where Ron was going with this. 

“It made me think of the locket.” Ron still wouldn’t look at him.

Harry’s chest tightened, and he swallowed back the painful lump in his throat. “Well you don’t need to worry about that, mate,” he said, his voice sounding harsher than he meant it to. “You know Hermione adores you. I’m just waiting for the two of you to get—”

“We’re breaking up.” 

The words caught in his throat. He spluttered incoherently for several seconds before managing to spit out, “What? Why?”

A strange smile lifted the corner of Ron’s mouth, almost bitter. “It’s mutual. Don’t worry. She’s actually got her eye on someone else, and I—” he swallowed painfully. “Well, yeah, I’m fine, mate. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t bloody look fine.” 

Ron huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, I can’t get that bloody image out of my head, can I?” 

“What image?” Harry’s head was spinning; he could barely keep up.

“The two of you.” 

The wind howled down the chimney, ruffling the curtains and making them both shiver. Harry accio’d a bottle of Firewhisky from the cupboard and poured them two large glasses. Whether or not the break up was mutual, Ron clearly wasn’t taking it well, and he imagined the memory of the locket was making him think in a little too much detail about Hermione and her new man. 

“Is it anyone we know?” he asked as gently as he could manage. 

To his surprise, Ron gave a genuine laugh. “Actually, yeah. You remember Pansy Parkinson?” 

Harry blinked several times. “Pansy?” 

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” He nodded. “Didn’t see that coming.” 

Ron grabbed his glass and tossed it back in one swallow. “They fell in love while ‘Mione was cataloguing that archive of Sumerian tablets.” 

His voice was matter of fact, without emotion, and Harry felt suddenly wrong-footed. He was missing something here. 

“How long?” he asked. 

Ron looked up at him. “How long has it been going on or until we break up?”

“Both?”

“I guess she’s known what she felt for Pansy for months, but they never did anything. We talked about it last week, and I don’t know, I think it’s official now. She’s coming to get the rest of her stuff tomorrow.”

There weren’t many of Hermione’s possessions lying around the flat anymore. She’d collected a lot of them about a month ago, bringing everything back to her apartment in London during one of her tidying sprees. Harry supposed it all made a bit more sense, now. 

He poured them another glass each. 

“You’re… you’re allowed to grieve, Ron.” Harry’s voice was hesitant, trying to feel out what it was that wasn’t adding up about Ron’s reaction. “You don’t need to hold it back.” 

That strange smile crossed his face again. “I don’t need to grieve, mate. We’ve known it wasn’t working for years. And besides, Hermione always said she was just a fill-in for—” he broke off, an alarmed expression crossing his face, and quickly took a drink. 

Harry frowned. “If you’re not upset, then why are you, you know, upset?” 

Ron laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “Same reason I’ve been upset for years, according to Hermione.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“Stop saying that!” He slammed his glass down on the table, making Ron jump. 

Ron’s eyes were wide as Harry glared at him, and for a moment neither of them moved. 

“You’re my best mate,” Harry said, holding his gaze. “Stop telling me not to worry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—we can just sit here and get pissed—but stop saying that it’s fine and that I shouldn’t care about you when you’re clearly in trouble.” 

The whole time he was speaking, Ron’s jaw had clenched tighter and tighter until he pushed back from the bench and stood up, swearing in frustration. 

“It’s not— you don’t get it, Harry! I should’ve just said something at the time and then maybe this wouldn’t have ended up so bloody confusing, but I didn’t see the point, and I didn’t completely get it anyway—I mean, we had a few other things going on, you know—and I just—” Ron turned away, pulling at his hair as he began to pace the kitchen. “I just keep thinking about what might have happened that night, with all the locket business, if I hadn’t let you think it was about Hermione. What would have happened if I’d just told you then? But instead I was too much of a coward, and one thing led to another, and I mean I love Hermione, I really do, but I don’t love her, not like that, and who wouldn’t fall in love with the Saviour of the wizarding world, you know? I mean you’d have to be a bloody idiot not to fall for someone who smiles at you like you’re the sun in the middle of—” He suddenly froze and turned back to Harry, a look of horror on his face. 

Harry’s thoughts were spinning so fast he could barely keep up, but all he could focus on was how Ron was turning pinker and pinker, and how it didn’t make sense. Why would he be doing that? He hadn’t said anything embarrassing—he’d only said that it was no surprise Hermione was in love with Harry…

…Except, no. He hadn’t said that. He couldn’t have said that—Hermione was in love with Pansy—which meant that Ron was—

Harry stumbled backwards off the chair. 

“You’re in love with me!” he squeaked. 

“Did I say that?” Ron’s eyes were wide and frenzied. “I don’t think I said that. I’m sure I didn’t say that. Did I say that? I mean, I’m in love with you but I didn’t say it.” 

“You did! You said it right then!” Harry pointed at him, feeling a flush spread across his chest. 

“Nah.” Ron backed up to the wall, leaning against it. “Couldn’t have. You must be mad.”

“You’re mad,” Harry corrected. “You’re the one who’s in love with me. Why the hell would you possibly love me? I’m— I’m— I’m a mess! I have trauma a mile wide, and I have trouble opening up to people, and I’m not even that nice half the time. I’m nothing like you. You’re brave and loyal, and the way your face lights up whenever you’re flying just kills me every time. I mean, I’ve been in love with you for years for Merlin’s sake—you’d have to be absolutely mental to think I’d believe you’ve been in love with me since seventh year.”

Ron’s eyes bugged out of his skull. “You’re in love with me?!” His voice caught on the words. 

Harry’s stomach plummeted. “Did I say that?” he muttered weakly. 

The sound of Ron swallowing was deafening loud in the quiet room. “You did,” he said slowly. “You said it right then.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “Well. Yeah. But you said it first.”

Ron took a step closer to him. “Yeah,” he said faintly. “I did.” 

For several seconds, neither of them moved. Then, the chair scraped loudly across the tiles as Ron shoved it out of the way, took two steps forward, and pulled Harry into a kiss. 

He was shocked at first—still stunned from the confession—but then his hands came up to Ron’s neck of their own volition, and he slid his fingers through silky, red hair and tugged him down closer. Ron moaned into his mouth, dropping his hands to Harry’s waist and sliding his fingers into the very top of his jeans.

Then, he pulled back and looked down at Harry, still with that same wide-eyed, disbelieving expression as before. 

“Really? You’re sure?” His fingers were gentle as he brought them up to Harry’s neck, making a movement as if he were going to lean in and kiss him again, but then pulling back at the last second.

“Want me to change my mind?” 

“No,” Ron said, the word coming out in a rush that ended in a breathless laugh. “Just figured you’d probably want to. You know, when you came to your senses and all that.” 

Harry ran his hands down Ron’s chest, pausing at the bottom of his shirt and tugging at it idly. “I meant what I said. It’s why things didn’t work out with Ginny.”

He winced inwardly as he realised that now probably wasn’t the best time to bring up sisters and his past relationships with them, but Ron only gave a laugh that sounded like he’d just been offered private seats to the Quidditch cup. 

“You mean,” he said slowly, his voice filled with awe, “that when you were with Gin, you really wanted me?” 

Suddenly Harry was eleven again, standing beside Ron as they stared into the Mirror of Erised and he described all the things that he—youngest son, constantly overlooked and overshadowed—longed for most in the world. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said with a laugh, but he didn’t mean it. 

Then, Ron lowered his head again and their lips met, gentle and unsure. They walked—still pressed together, hands running across each other’s skin—toward the couch where Harry dropped backward and let Ron stretch out on top of him. He felt a rush of insecurity when Ron pulled Harry’s shirt up over his head—tightened his hands on it for a second before he let go—but it fell away when he saw the way Ron was looking at him. 

“Making up for lost time?” Harry asked with a laugh, as Ron bent to kiss every inch of skin he could reach, and he couldn’t help but agree with Ron’s mumbled affirmative. 

His head felt light and giddy, and everywhere that Ron’s fingers and mouth landed felt suddenly alive with warmth. He reached down and tugged at Ron’s shirt, letting out a rush of air when Ron leaned back, still straddling his thighs, and pulled his own shirt off in one smooth motion. 

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen Ron naked before, but now he was allowed to touch and to taste. He reached up to do just that, but Ron caught him by the wrists and held them above Harry’s head with one hand, pressing them back into the cushions and dropping down to Harry’s neck where he bit and sucked until Harry was panting against him. 

Part of him was struggling against the realisation that this was real, unable to believe that his one-sided pining for so many years might not quite have been as one-sided as he’d thought. The rest of him had let go of all those thoughts and was simply sinking into the moment. He closed his eyes, relishing each glorious second where the man he had loved for so long was worshipping his body with such obvious delight that even Harry was having trouble finding reason to doubt it was true.

“Hey,” Ron said suddenly, lifting his head to look down at Harry. “I just realised—” 

His pupils were wide, making his eyes seem suddenly dark, and Harry just wanted to flip them over and switch positions so that Ron was the one coming undone. Harry shook his head and forced himself to pay attention.

“What did you mean when you said you’re a mess and I’d be mental to love you?” 

Harry stiffened, suddenly unable to look Ron in the eye. “You know,” he said dismissively. “I’m just not the most—” he shrugged, the movement made awkward by the fact that Ron still had his wrists gripped above his head. “Normal person, I guess, is what I meant. You could do better.”

Ron’s eyes softened, and he shifted, letting go of Harry’s wrists so that he could cup his face instead. He was hesitant, the movement a little clunky as he nearly elbowed Harry’s jaw on the way down, but it was tender and sweet, and Harry had never had anything like it directed it at him in all his life. 

“Why would you think any of that? You’re brilliant.” He ran his thumb along Harry’s neck, and then bent to follow the trail of his fingers with his mouth. “I’m not even talking about all the stuff you said—though you’re mental for thinking that everything you’ve gone through somehow means I couldn’t love you.” His voice caught a little on the word ‘love’, but he went on, his brow drawing together fiercely. “I’m talking about how funny you are, and how clever. You make me laugh, even when everything seems terrible. Not to mention I’ve still never met anyone who could cast a patronus as strong as you can, and you didn’t just keep that to yourself. You shared it with us—all of us, even the people you didn’t really like—because that’s who you are. I don’t know how you could ever think that someone as smart and as generous as all that wasn’t worth something.” 

It was different, somehow, the way Ron was talking about him. It wasn’t like all the people who tried to get his attention by going on and on about how good a wizard he was, how brave. It was honest and real, and Harry thought maybe he’d had people tell him these things over the years, perhaps, in tiny moments where the compliment was thrown dismissively in alongside what they were really discussing, but he’d never had this. He’d never had someone looking down at him so fiercely, like every word they were saying was urgent and true and they wanted Harry to know it—like they didn’t even care if they got anything out of it, they just needed him to know. 

Harry made a sound at the back of his throat, and it was embarrassingly raw, and he felt himself grow harder against Ron’s thigh for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. Ron shifted against him, the incredulous smile back on his face for a brief second before it changed into a shy grin that he tried to bite back but couldn’t, it was so large. 

“I mean it,” he said, before he dropped his head back to Harry’s chest and began pressing kisses down his stomach. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Harry.” 

Harry moaned, his back arching as he turned to bury his face in the cushions of the couch. He felt Ron pop the button in his jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down over his thighs as his tongue traced the path of his hips. 

And then he felt the heat of Ron’s mouth swallow him down, his lips soft and wet against Harry’s cock. He whimpered, clutching at the cushions, at Ron’s shoulders, as he tried not to thrust. But Ron pulled at his hips encouragingly, and soon they were moving together until Harry spilled over, biting onto the cushions so as not to make a sound. 

He hadn’t even time to grow soft before he grabbed Ron, pushed him back against the couch, and kneeled on the floor in front of him, tugging at his jeans until they were pooled at his feet and he could take Ron in his hands and mouth. Ron’s head fell back with a whimper, his fingers sifting through Harry’s hair so gently, so tenderly, he felt himself already swelling again in response.

He came with a shout, gripping the pillows and thrusting up, fucking Harry’s mouth through his orgasm. It was… odd. The strangest mixture of tender and rough and dirty and sensual that Harry had ever experienced—the best sex he’d ever had, if he was honest, and it had barely lasted twenty minutes—and he was left feeling empty, wrung out, but lighter—so much lighter—than ever before. 

Ron tugged at Harry’s wrist, eyes still closed, and Harry pulled himself up onto the couch beside him, kicking off his jeans and pulling up his boxers. Ron opened his eyes and did the same before shooting Harry a look that was unusually shy, given everything that had just happened. 

“You all right?” he asked, and it wasn’t full of regret or nervousness, but genuine concern that Harry might not have enjoyed what they’d both just done. 

Harry felt a rush of warmth flood through him, and he pulled Ron into a kiss. Their mouths parted, tongues sliding together as they lay down, Ron beneath him this time, and explored each other in a way that was slower than before but still as heated. 

“It’s kind of the wrong way around,” Harry admitted after they’d pulled away for air, “but will you go out on a date with me tomorrow?” 

He’d expected Ron to laugh, or to smile, or to do any other faintly embarrassing thing that reminded Harry just how new and inexperienced he was to all this. But instead, he bit his lip, his cheeks turning pink again as he nodded furiously, and Harry realised suddenly just how much they both wanted this, how much it meant to both of them. He needed a moment then, and he rested his forehead against Ron’s, closed his eyes, and just breathed. 

In the dark, he felt Ron smiling beneath him, and he wondered how they had both been so blind as to miss what was between them for so long. Fortunately, he supposed it didn’t matter. They had each other now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi on tumblr :) either [here](http://agentmoppet.tumblr.com/) or [here](https://ellenjanewrites.tumblr.com/)


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